


Problem Solving

by Anonymous



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Tickling, a little bit of Ronan dealing with his dad's death, and Adam being afraid of getting hit, they're all so awkward and careful with each other like the dorks they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ronan Lynch, pugnacious Aglionby student with no regard for grades or dress codes or other people’s feelings, isticklish.or, the story of how it was discovered that each of the Raven Boys shares a certain weakness.





	Problem Solving

_Ronan_

Ronan and Gansey have been friends for a while now, so Gansey’s been invited to the Barns once or twice. 

More importantly, he’s met the rest of Ronan’s family, including the charming and roguish Niall Lynch - Niall Lynch, who spends his nights dreaming wonderful horrors into existence and his days embarrassing his children in front of their friends.

Gansey remembers the incident clearly, mostly because it’s such a stark contrast to Ronan _after_. Niall, strolling past them as they walk up the interminable driveway, reminds Ronan to check on the cows before sundown. Ronan, pulling his Aglionby tie off and shoving it into his pocket, replies _sure, I’ll check on Declan later, if he’s not too busy mooing at some girl on his phone._ Niall laughs affably, reels him in with a friendly arm around the shoulder, and mercilessly squeezes Ronan’s sides until Ronan apologizes amid peals of laughter. He’s still giggling as Niall claps him on the back and wanders off, offhandedly telling the two of them to stay out of trouble (as if they ever could, even back then).

Gansey tucks the thought that the most contact he’s had with his parents in years is a quick handshake very firmly into the back of his mind and gallantly offers an elbow to Ronan, who shoves him in the shoulder with another laugh and sets off for the barn.

Months later, the unthinkable happens. 

Ronan stops talking to his brothers and comes to stay in Monmouth, and for two weeks it’s as if he’s doing his level best to sink into his mattress and disappear. Seeing how miserable he is, Gansey’s almost inclined to let him. He knows panic, he’s survived it, but Ronan’s grief is dark and suffocating and _personal_ , an entirely different animal to his own troubles.

At the end of those two weeks, though, he pries open the door to Ronan’s room. He can’t let things go on like this – this is just another problem set for him to solve, another duty bequeathed by fate, and even if he doesn’t know how to help he doesn’t know how to leave it be either.

His presence sets the entire room in motion; empty beer bottles rolling from where the door pushed them aside, the sound of his bare feet on the floor echoing with each step, light forcing through the doorway and pooling in corners. Ronan, however, emanates stillness; he’s flung facedown on his mattress, an empty shell of that laughing boy at the Barns. “Get up, Lynch. We’re going for a drive.”

Ronan’s response is an emphatic middle finger, jabbed unerringly at Gansey’s unprotected ankle. Gansey sighs and uses his foot to prod at Ronan’s side. “Don’t argue,” he says, trying to wedge his toes under Ronan’s ribcage – maybe he can flip him over? - “it’ll be fun.”

A muffled sound emanates from the pile of lean limbs on the floor. Gansey’s brain, caught up in wondering how much Ronan weighs and how much of a fight he’ll put up if lifted into a fireman’s hold, belatedly registers it as a yelp. 

Ronan rolls over before he can say anything. “Fine,” he says, eyes still closed. “I’ll be ready in ten. Now get the hell out.” And that’s that.

Ronan gets better, for certain values of better. But his laughter is unmistakably bitter now, and his smile is a hook designed specifically to draw in people as angry at Ronan as Ronan is at the world. Gansey still doesn’t know how to solve that, so he focuses on the smaller things. Getting Ronan to sleep. Convincing him to study for tests. Talking him down from fights.

And, every so often, he tries to get Ronan to smile. Usually under the guise of getting him to do things – “why don’t we compare Latin homework?” accompanied by a series of pokes to Ronan’s side to get his attention, and “don’t sleep on the couch, you’ll hurt your neck,” as he swipes a finger up the sole of Ronan’s foot. He never does it in a way that draws attention, never tries to provoke a stronger reaction than what he gets, and never when Ronan’s in one of his more dangerous moods. He’s afraid that if he crosses whatever ragged line he can infer from Ronan’s response, it’ll stop working. But for now, he’s usually rewarded with a squirm, an upward tick of Ronan’s mouth, and in his more optimistic moments he likes to think that it’s enough to remind Ronan that someone cares about him. 

_Adam_

Adam’s been friends with Ronan and Gansey for just over three weeks when he figures it out.

He’s eating lunch with them on Aglionby grounds, under a lush tree that probably eats up more money in fertilizer than Adam spends on clothes in a year. It’s been a long morning in a longer week, and once again Ronan’s decided to say something that turns the dull, constant want that throbs through his veins into something sharp and sparking. 

Luckily, Gansey’s around to play white knight. Eyebrows furrowed, he leans toward Ronan and says something too quiet for Adam to hear. And then – so fast he almost doesn’t notice – he nudges Ronan in the side. 

He’s seen this before. A nudge. A flinch. The flicker of a smile on Ronan’s face, stealing the harshness of his angry features away for a few precious moments. But here, with the dappled-green sunlight rendering the two boys across from him almost otherworldly, is the first time it really clicks in his head.

Ronan Lynch, pugnacious Aglionby student with no regard for grades or dress codes or other people’s feelings, is _ticklish_.

He doesn’t plan to do anything with that knowledge. Ronan would probably punch him (probably? he’s gotten optimistic), and even the thought of that is enough to dissuade him. But somehow, forces beyond his control compel him to do something stupid. As usual.

Two days later, they’re all stuffed into the Pig, headed off on one of Gansey’s day trips. Gansey, as always, is at the wheel. Ronan’s snagged the passenger seat, which leaves Adam and Noah in the back. Unfortunately, this gives Ronan control over the music, and he’s chosen to abuse his power by playing the murder squash song for the fifth time in a row.

Gansey’s already asked Ronan to play something else and drifted off to Glendower-land with a disappointed sigh when his request was refused. Noah’s been staring out the left side window since they left, sun and shadow swirling over the half of his face that Adam can see. So it’s just him, teeth gritting and blood pounding in his ears every time another scream blares over the speakers, and Ronan, arms curled up and around his headrest as he lounges.

He doesn’t want to start a fight for no reason, so he decides to ask Noah first, gently shaking his shoulder to get his attention. “Should I do something?”

Noah turns his head, inscrutable as ever. He eyes Ronan, then Adam, and grins unexpectedly. “Go for it. It’s been a while since Ronan laughed.”

Adam blinks. So Noah knows Ronan’s secret too? Huh.

His crusade justified, he returns to the task at hand. “Lynch. Lynch! Fuck’s sake, change the song or I’m going to make you.”

From what he can see in the rearview mirror, Ronan doesn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Yeah, good fucking luck with that.” 

Well then. Adam shifts forward, takes a deep breath, and makes his move.

Exposed in his tank top, the hollows under Ronan’s arms make for a pretty good initial target. Especially when Ronan _shouts_ , yanks his arms down, and starts laughing so hard that he’s wheezing for breath. There’s a terrifying moment where Gansey starts in surprise and almost swerves the Pig straight off the road, but Adam’s gone too far to stop now and when Gansey’s eyes catch his in the rearview mirror his expression is somewhere between shock and approval.

Ronan is thrashing, long legs hitting the dashboard as he tries to escape his seatbelt and Adam’s torturous fingers. He doesn’t beg – not that Adam expected him to – but the relatively tame curses leaking out amid his cackling are proof that he’s weakening.

“Change the song,” Adam says as firmly as he can through a smile so wide he can feel it stretching his face, “or I’m going to keep using you to drown it out.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Ronan yelps. Adam pulls his hands away and, grimacing, wipes them on his shirt. Ronan slumps back into his seat, reaching out to cut off the murder squash song mid-scream, and for a few moments the Pig is filled with blessed silence. 

“Gansey, pull over.” 

Gansey’s proud-parent smile disappears. “I’m not going to stop so you can threaten Adam for acting on behalf of the rest of us.”

“Pull over or I’m getting out of the car _right now_.” Ronan’s hands tighten on his seatbelt buckle and the door handle, and Adam suddenly can’t breathe. This was a mistake. 

He wonders, abruptly, if anyone will believe that Noah told him he could do this. But he knows better than anyone that nothing he says will matter here.

Gansey pulls to the shoulder of the road, warning, “Don’t do anything stupid, Ronan. I mean it. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

_It’s not like that matters either_ , Adam thinks miserably, but at least he’s fairly sure that Gansey won’t let Ronan kill him.

(remember, things could always be worse)

Ronan stalks around the front of the car and knocks on Noah’s door. “We’re switching places, Czerny. Don’t play any of that weird pop music shit.”

Noah nods and calmly gets out. He smiles happily at Adam. Adam can’t bring himself to smile back.

Ronan’s gaze meets his for a single instant, and Adam closes his eyes. 

Ronan thumps into the seat next to him. Fastens his seatbelt with a scowl. Leans back, eyes fixed firmly on the back of Gansey’s headrest. “You can start driving now. See, nothing stupid.”

“Thank you,” Gansey says politely, and the Pig sputters back to life. Adam couldn’t be closer to the door on his side if he was welded to it.

Five minutes later, Ronan uncrosses his arms. Adam watches in confusion as his hand comes closer. Ronan’s index finger moves to rest exactly where the seams of his shirt meet under his arm, and he’s too rattled to do anything but watch as Ronan prods at him repeatedly, brows furrowed. A giggle escapes, half relief and half actual ticklishness, and as Ronan smirks he knows he’s screwed in an entirely different way than he first expected.

It takes twenty minutes until they reach their destination, and Adam’s breathless with laughter the entire time. 

_Gansey_

It doesn’t change anything. They’re not less likely to snap at each other, they don’t try to tickle each other out of bad moods because neither of them have the kind of problems that a little laughter can cure.

But whenever Ronan’s half-hearted attempts to distract Adam or Gansey from homework get a little too out of hand, Adam doesn’t hesitate to grab whatever limb is nearest, haul Ronan into a rough approximation of a wrestling pin, and start wiggling his fingers into every sensitive spot he can find. And Ronan makes it a point to unceremoniously wreck him every single time in return, and a few more besides. At least Adam’s stopped looking at him like he’s going to start ripping throats out if anyone so much as pokes him the wrong way.

It’s on one of these occasions, Ronan looming over Adam on Monmouth’s dusty floor, that Adam gets curious. “Hey, wait – wahahait! I don’t understand – how come you never get Gansey back for tickling you?”

Ronan barely pauses, squeezing right below Adam’s ribs and grinning at the resulting yelp. “Gansey’s not ticklish, Parrish. Unfortunately for you.”

“H-how did you figure that out? What did he even say? ‘I appreciate you testing my nervous system, but you can’t possibly think I’m susceptible to your childish weaknesses?’”

It’s a good imitation of what Ronan likes to think of as Gansey’s Dick the Third accent, and it’s only when he tries to answer the question that he realizes he’s overlooked something. “Never actually tried it.”

“Wait, what? You got me back within, like, the first ten minutes.”

Ronan’s always figured that Gansey would never start a fight he could possibly lose. It’s never even crossed his mind that Gansey too could be reduced to a breathless, giggling heap like he and Adam can (and Noah, sometimes, though half the time it’s like he’s not ticklish at all). But instead of saying that to Adam, he turns abruptly to Monmouth’s single couch, where Gansey has neatly arranged himself.

He’s on the phone with his sister, ankles neatly crossed and one arm pillowing his head as he nods thoughtfully at something or the other. Ronan gestures _watch this_ at Adam and drapes himself over the back of the couch. “Hey, Dick, I’ve got a question for you.”

Gansey holds up a finger to quiet him, the kind of unintentional imperiousness that makes Ronan really hope that he’s on to something here. “It’s a yes-or-no question. You don’t even have to say anything.”

Gansey shrugs and gestures for him to continue. Ronan smirks. 

“Are you ticklish?”

Gansey actually _flinches_. He recovers quickly, shaking his head emphatically and giving Ronan a prohibitive look for good measure, but he really should know better than to think that’s enough to stop Ronan now. 

He deploys a single finger to poke at Gansey’s stomach, covered today by an offensively magenta polo shirt. “Oh, good. I’d hate for this to disturb your phone call.”

Gansey bites out a broken stop it as Ronan keeps bothering him, reaching down to catch Ronan’s wrist with his free hand. Over the phone, he can just make out the rise at the end of Helen’s sentence as she asks a question.

“No, Helen, nothing’s happening-” Ronan raises an eyebrow and waggles his other hand at him tauntingly, and Gansey, blushing, abruptly tells Helen he’ll have to call her back.

Gansey hangs up and opens his mouth to say something, but Ronan’s worked both his hands free now and the only thing that comes out is laughter.

“Rohohonan – whahat – hahahnoho!”

“Thank Adam,” Ronan tells him, rucking up his polo shirt to get better access to Gansey’s torso. It’s lean from rowing practice, but, to Ronan’s delight, that doesn’t make him it any less susceptible to a light scratching that has Gansey in stitches. “He pointed out that I’ve never actually tickled you, which means you have a lot of payback due.”

“That’s not what I said,” calls Adam. He’s grinning, though, happy that Gansey is happy and that he’s not the one under Ronan’s hands today, and Ronan finds his mood rising to match.

Gansey, halfway to hysterics, is an absolute mess. He’s curled up around Ronan’s hands, not that it helps him any, and his golden hair is mussed beyond repair. Still, he hasn’t asked Ronan to stop, so Ronan’s not inclined to show him any mercy just yet. 

He remembers having brothers. This, somehow, is even better.


End file.
